Keeping it Real
by Tomo Trillions
Summary: [Updated 4/14][Non-slash!]Crowley is sent (by Aziraphale, no less) to investigate a strangeness surrounding Tadfield. The fate that awaits him is more horrible than any ever imagined by Hell or Heaven alike - and Adam learns a bit about growing up.
1. Prologue

Title: Keeping it Real   
Coupling: Newt/Anathema, some Adam/Pepper   
Rating: G   
Notes: Welcome to the first Themfic on the net. XD;;; 

Tomo Trillions   
www.amberstone.net   
knivesnomiko.pitas.com 

~~~~~~~   
Prologue   
~~~~~~~ 

It was a beautiful, windy summer day of the English variety - not too hot, not too cold, and filled with massive white cumulus clouds that slowly swept by overhead, casting massive shadows across the streets and stunted trees. It was a lazy day, a Sunday, though sometimes in the summertime the days of the week ceased to matter as everything was slung together in one pleasant hum of lazy days and endless, short nights. 

Anathema stood on her front porch leaning on the railing, chin cupped in one long-nailed hand. An apron was wrapped around her waist, her jeans were caked with dust - she had been gardening earlier, but had been distracted. 

With a faint, thin frown, Anathema regarded the day thoughtfully, eyes tracing over the perfect clouds, the soft breeze, the dust stirring by the roadside - she was considering how picturesque it was, and how utterly quaint. It was.....eery. 

Boring, yes, but a likable sort or boring, the boring that could be fallen into and enjoyed. "Just too perfect," she shook her head, auburn curls bouncing as the beauty of the moment confirmed her deepest suspicions. "It has to be him." 

Yes, this summer day in Tadfield was perfect, as had been the day before, and the day before - in fact, the whole summer had seemed unnaturally long and sunny, with only a few spotty days of rain and an occasional thunderstorm, impressive in lightening and good for forming mud puddles, but it was always gone by morning. 

Tadfield was untouchable. Nobody died. Nobody moved. The world circulated around it like rapids about a jutting boulder - it never sank, never moved, was never overcome by anything. 

Anathema had tested the ley lines that morning, and was positive that she was correct. It was unnatural, this detachment. It didn't make sense. 

Or rather, it did. 

The more she considered her idea, the further Anathema convinced herself that she had to be correct. When she first arrived, Tadfield had felt like a delicious vacation - but no more than that. Her little Jasmine cottage, her dusty garden, it was all a momentary distraction as she followed the heirloom of her family - home for maybe six months before she would move on. 

Six months had come and gone at least three times over. 

Sure, now she had Newt, had a job at the town's one and only flower shop, yet.... why? 

Why was she here, staying in Tadfield? Why not see the world? Her lover wouldn't mind, a change of pace would be good for him, they could visit old friends, make new ones... why not get a steady job elsewhere, now that she'd successfully played a hand in saving the world? 

"Definitely him." 

So she was here, living in a small English town, with a thin, scrawny man who she was beginning to love, despite herself. And it was perfect. 

The Antichrist was her next door neighbor. 

It could not be coincidence that her world was not changing, it could not be chance that held her here in Tadfield, away from the rush and gush of the social and political world. 

Thoughtfully, Anathema wandered into the house, took a pad of paper by the phone and searched for a pen. She began to write, very carefully, very concisely, to herself. 

~~ 

_Anathema -___

_This is yourself writing, dear. It's three pm, July the third, a Sunday - I'm not sure what year.___

_I've had a revelation. Tadfield, despite the fact that Armageddon has passed by, is not a normal town any more than you are a normal woman. Think, Anathema. Make the connections, like your mother always told you to - how many perfect days have there been this summer? How many deaths, births? Why haven't you left, when you've always wanted to travel?_

She paused, tapping the pen against her lips, then began again. 

_Tadfield doesn't _change_ at all. I believe it's Adam, stretching and warping Tadfield like he did before the Armageddon - that's what attracted me to the place, but now I feel trapped - I became a part of his picture, and am no longer able to step away from it. I believe he's changing it to some purpose - I don't know what, but it's changing the ley lines along with the weather, and sometimes it feels like time itself is being distended as well. Has he gotten taller? Has Pepper changed? The Them? It's like Tadfield has been put into one long, perpetual loop of time.... years are going by, but they aren't _counting_ up for anything. People remember the years, but somehow I'm the only one to sense the deja vu of it all - maybe because I'm familiar with his powers?___

_I'm going to confront him. I'm going to ask why he's changing things, show him the twisting of the lines - try to convince him to let whatever he's altered go - I'm going to tell him I'm leaving Tadfield, permanently, forever. Of course, if my theory is correct, he won't want me to leave. He won't let me change the perfect town he's created....and I won't remember writing this note to myself.___

_Believe me, think about it for yourself. You have to do something - nobody else will.___

_Forever -_   
_Anathema_

It seemed a bit silly, the last line, but she felt it was necessary - it made her heart rate slow a tad, that measure of self-confidence. After all, Anathema was about to go tell the one person capable of altering her most basic *self* exactly what he didn't want to hear.... Staying herself, Anathema, forever, might no longer be possible. 

It was a scary thought. 

The young woman swept her hair back in a loose ponytail, pulled on a pair of sandals, and stepped out into the breezy, perfect afternoon. Anathema Device, ready to sort out the worries of the world. "Somebody has to do it...." 

She had to find Adam. 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

Between Wensleydale, Pepper and Brian, Adam sat, Dog flopped across the dirt at his feet, mouthing an old, wet stick. The boy was brooding, and the Them knew it, as they lounged about the dusty remains of the quarry. The three exchanged glances over his head, concerned and yet knowing - they had seen this before, many times, it was almost routine. Adam was their leader, so they said nothing, waiting for him to ask them the inevitable question - he always did. It was just a matter of when. 

Ten minutes or so passed, and Wensleydale began squirming on the upturned paint can he had chosen for a seat, Brian picked his nose, and Pepper piled dust around her fingers, making little hand prints in the sandy ground. Dog looked up, sniffed, and went back to his stick. 

When the words came at last, Adam looked up and blinked in the warm light, peering at their faces one by one. "Do you think she should go?" 

They all made a great show of thinking very hard. Brian scratched his chin. Wensleydale shuffled at the dust with one shoe. Dog gnawed, though in a thoughtful sort of way, turned his stick and lapped at it for another long moment. Pepper spoke first, wiping a bead of sweat from her freckled cheek and leaving a smudge of dirt behind. "I don't see why she should. Tadfield's very nice." 

"Yeah, an' who would run the flower shop?" Brian agreed with her, adjusted his filthy baseball cap, and glanced back at Adam, who had fixed Wensleydale with a firm look. 

"Well...." Wensleydale looked down through his spectacles. "I don't see why she couldn't leave for a bit and then maybe come back. Vacations are real nice and all, and grown-ups like them. But forever? I don't want her to leave forever." 

"She's the only witch we've got," Brian added, for good measure. 

"Right," Adam nodded firmly and the Them sighed a collective sigh of relief - his decision evidently made. "We need her." 

Pepper and Wensleydale blinked at each other, and looked away - the Them knew that, if Adam decided it, Anathema would not go. They never questioned just how it happened - each wondered privately whether or not Adam changed things, or predicted things - but it didn't matter so much in the end. The fact was that things *did* end up how he wanted them. 

They always did. 

However, since the weird occurrences surrounding Adam's birthday several - (how long had it been?) - before, the Them had served as a sort of council for their leader. He asked questions, they tried to decide what answer would please him most, and spat it back. Arguments within the Them were not a rare thing, but to disagree with Adam... 

"Anyway. What should we do this afternoon?" 

"Why not swimming? We could look for frogs when it gets dark..." 

"Good idea," Adam nodded, and it was decided. 

~~~~   
~~~~ 


	2. The calm (and the storm)

Title: Keeping it Real   
Chapter: One   
Rating: G   
Couplings: Newt/Anathema at the moment Adam/Pepper later, because I CAN AND I WANT TO. I am _such_ a trendsetter. ^^;   
Notes: Arrrr. Arrrrrr, mateys! Welcome to the first chapter of the first Themfic in existance. W00t. 

Oh, yeah. I've only been to England once. Forgive me if I insult anyone.   
XD;;;; 

~Tomo   
www.amberstone.net   
knivesnomiko.pitas.com   
~~~~   
~~~~ 

Crowley was having an exceptionally good day. London was cool, lazy and permeated with a satisfied feeling of contentment that only early-morning fall days could maintain - which made his job all the more easy. Wandering through town he made sure to leave a wide trail of annoyance and frustration behind, in the form of traffic tickets, spilled drinks, missing wallets and more. 

Sauntering by a school, he peered through the gates and considered for a long moment before passing by. Eight year olds, he admitted to himself, were not a personal favorite target of his. Besides, they were no fun to tempt - as they didn't have the brains to say no in the first place. 

Tempting was a skill that required a suitable target, one with morals to be corrupted, or else it wasn't tempting at all. Besides, the worst an eight year old could do was throw rocks at the girl that always ignored him..... 

Yes, the demon reflected, shoving his hands in the pockets of his tight black jeans, London (at least in this century) was a nice place to live, even if the natives were a bit backwards about a few things - like fish and chips, for example. They were not all that good (and rather expensive) but were more English than many things foreigners ever heard of. They had the tea right, of course, he mused. Tea was a great thing, even if it _was_ one of Aziraphale's creations. 

The guard was changing at the palace, Crowley noticed, pausing to watch amongst schools of field-tripping students (honestly, tourists made such _easy_ targets!). One of the Americans was considering shouting - and with a deft mental nudge, he convinced her to do so, and went so far as to prompt a be-tassled band member to wave back, stumbling slightly in his distraction. When they began marching, he loosed a shoelace here and a button there, listening to sounds of chaos as he wandered away from the wrought iron gates and bubbling fountains that surrounded Buckingham. 

Ah, thought Crowley, London in the fall. 

It was still early, and his day did not end there. Whistling cheerfully, Crowley picked out a spot in a nearby park and counted bicycle crashes, which seemed to occur frequently around him. When he was at twenty-three and a half, Aziraphale appeared at the gates of the park, dressed in slacks and a modest looking tweed coat. The angel wandered over to his counterpart and sat down in the grass, saying nothing for a long moment as he repaired the bicycle of Crowley's most recent victim. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley mumbled, a bit annoyed at being found so easily. If the angel was here, he'd be chewed out (Aziraphale was very good at disapproving looks) for the bike crashes, and that took all the fun out of laughing as people hit the concrete. "what a coincidence. What brings you out here?" 

"I wanted to talk to you," the angel said, not meeting his eyes. That meant one of two things - either he wanted something, or was as angry as an angel can be. Crowley suspected the former. 

"Oh?" A scream resounded in the background. Twenty-four and a half, Crowley smiled. "About what?" 

"I got a call from Anathema, you see. She's in trouble." 

It took Crowley a moment to recognize the name, and when he did, he blinked. Peering through tinted lenses, he watched Aziraphale squirm for a moment before answering thoughtfully. "The witch? I thought she was rather well adjusted, as far as occultists go. What's wrong?" 

"She called me and had the strangest story - she'd written herself a letter, reminding herself of a problem..." the angel coughed into a slightly chubby fist, "She thinks Adam is warping the fabric of space-time to keep Tadfield from changing at all." 

"...space-time fabric?" Crowley looked up, spotted an airplane, and mentally removed every last packet of complimentary peanuts from their stocks. Aziraphale noticed, but said nothing. "You've been reading those sci-fi books again, haven't you?" 

"No!" The angel blushed faintly, looking away. Crowley noticed that he was wearing glasses - lens-less glasses, but there none the less. The empty frames made him look older. "Well, yes, but that's not it." 

"So..." 

Aziraphale flashed him an annoyed look, lips pursing in frustration. "Haven't you felt the _tenseness_ hovering in the air, Crowley? Something's being stretched that shouldn't be. Adam does have the ability...he did it before, remember?" 

Angels always had a better sense of the world than demons did, as far as noticing problems or holes went. Aziraphale maintained it was because demons hit the ground so hard when they fell, it knocked the ability out of them - Crowley argued that it had been a rather soft landing. The falling was what really did it. "Did *what* before?" 

"Changed things!" Aziraphale threw his hands up. "Or rather, kept them from being changed. Crowley, he practically rest the world after all that Armageddon business! Doesn't it makes sense to you?" he met the demon's eyes. "Try to sense it." 

Crowley sighed gustily as he humored the angel and closed his slanted eyes, resting his elbow on his knee and cupping his chin with long-nailed fingers. Spreading out his consciousness, he really expected to find nothing - 

But the angel was right, he realized as he concentrated. Something did feel...different. Unstable, almost... 'stretched' was a good way of putting it, as if someone had taken the ends of 'time' and pulled them in every direction at once. Surprised, the demon rose higher, peering about with his 'sight', trying to find the source of the distention - far away, but not *that* far. Nowhere near London. Tadfield, then? 

Crowley came back to himself and spoke with a hushed, surprised voice. "I see what you mean." 

Aziraphale nodded and laced his fingers together. Crowley noticed that he bit his fingernails, and smiled weakly. "That's a bad habit." 

"Oh. Oh, yes. I know." 

A pause. "So you think it's Adam?" 

"Well, Anathema tested herself... When she called, she told me that she spoke with Adam, told him she wanted to leave Tadfield for good. The next day she didn't even remember the experiment, only knew what she'd done after reading a letter she'd written to herself." 

"She could have been hallucinating. Or burning a bit of _incense_, if you know what I mean..." Aziraphale shook his head and the demon sighed. "I believe her." 

"You believe everyone!" 

"Not you..." 

"Things *have* been awfully nice since the world almost ended," Crowley frowned, groping about for puzzle pieces. "But why would Adam use his powers, after what almost happened the last time?" 

"I don't know," Aziraphale said sincerely. "It's been seven years. He would be eighteen, if things in Tadfield are still progressing normally." 

"So you're saying he may have flushed years down the drain," Crowley stared at the angel before running a hand through his hair. It fell back perfectly in place, greased and dark. "That's.... unheard of." 

"Obviously." Aziraphale's tone was droll. 

"What are you planning on doing about it?" 

The angel looked pleased that he'd asked, and that gave Crowley a bad, bad feeling - generally he avoided things that Aziraphale found particularly amusing. "We need to talk to Adam, of course. Figure out what it is he's trying to avoid and convince him to let time resume its normal course.... This has never been done before - how much can things be 'pulled' before something snaps?" 

"Oh. Oh, great, good plan, right. I suppose you're going to tell me that you'd like to be the one knocking sense into the Antichrist..." Crowley shook his head and glared. 

"Actually, yes," the angel smiled weakly, "but seeing as I can't, I want you to do it." 

"What?! Me?" 

Oh, oh no. There was no way. There were currently two places on Crowley's 'Locations To Avoid Like The Plague' list - and Tadfield was second. Hell naturally was first, as the demon was still in the literal and figurative doghouse, and would be for another few centuries if he was lucky. Tadfield? "I'm not going to march in there and tell the Antichrist exactly what he doesn't want to hear, angel. Sorry." 

Aziraphale turned on him, eyes round behind his thin-rimmed glasses. He looked worried, and rather like a puppy that had been kicked around once too often. Angels, Crowley thought grimly, should not be so good at looking adorable. That was an unfair advantage. "Crowley, I can't. I don't know what your people are doing, but I'm being *watched*. I have been, for the last few years - contacting Adam would be the most glaringly suspicious thing I could possibly do!" 

"Isn't Heaven supposed to be all forgiving?" the demon asked dryly. 

"They'd call me a traitor," blue eyes flickered up to meet Crowley's own. "And you know how Heaven works." 

Crowley did know. The mechanics of it were not that different from Hell's bureaucracy - you did what you were told, you fulfilled your nature, and you were rewarded for it. There was little in the way of exceptions or loopholes... that was just the way it was. 

"There. Is. No. Way." 

"Please!" 

"No!" 

"You still owe me," Aziraphale coughed delicately, and Crowley looked surprised. The angel was not one to call in favors. "From that time. You know. In Salem." 

"........" Crowley ground his teeth (fangs had spouted and gone unnoticed in his anger), but it was true. Even a demon has _that_ much honor."So you want me to do the dirty work?!" 

"Just go in and investigate! Your people put Adam up here, it wouldn't seem so suspicious of you to go and talk with him... they might assume you were trying to convince him to use his powers again, for your side. Wouldn't that be a demonic thing to do?" The angel sounded desperate, and Crowley stared at Aziraphale in disbelief over the rims of his sunglasses. The two of them had kept a tenuous friendship at best since the averted Armageddon, but this was asking a bit much...! 

It was dangerous, he decided, feeling out the potential tear with his mind one more time. In his experience things that stretched generally snapped as well... and that could never bode well. Like a rubber band - it would snap back and bite the hand that held it. If the swell at Tadfield broke open, it made sense that the time that had been stalled would either rush in all at once to fill the void or would sweep outwards, away from the rupture... 

A hole in time. Crowley shivered - because whatever that meant, it couldn't be good. "What do you want me to do?" 

Aziraphale smiled warmly with relief. "Babysit." 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

He had already arranged it with Anathema, apparently, dropping Crowley's name into the pool of potential candidates for the job at hand. The demon felt a bit disgruntled by the fact that Aziraphale had simply _assumed_ he would say yes, but had to admit that the plan was likely to work, despite his protests - "why me? Why me?!". Anathema had reported to the angel that Pepper's (who, Crowley had asked?) parents were going on a business trip, and needed someone to watch the girl and her little sister. She was close friends with Adam, and that was the connection they needed - the perfect opportunity. 

This meant several things. One - Pepper and her sister were still _young_ enough to need watching. Two, Crowley would be babysitting. 

That in itself was horribly alarming. After all, a demonic denizen of Hell is generally not going to get along well with obnoxious young children... and Crowley, demon or not, was generally one of the last people any healthy parent would ever ask to babysit their kids. However, Anathema had told them he was a long-time friend of hers - "Oh," she'd promised, "he's been around forever." 

Crowley twisted the key, firing up the Bentley with a dark, angry glare into the rear view mirror. Aziraphale stood on the curb, waving delicately with one plump hand and cupping a cup of tea in the other. Crowley swore. "Damn it, angel."There was nothing for it. He drove on. 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

Adam had never really _meant_ to change Tadfield like he did. Not really. It was one of those things that just started happening all around him - at first he hadn't noticed, at first his desire and his power had worked together in secrecy, never informing _him _of what they intended to do. It was only when school neglected to start up again that he really began _noticing_ that summer was stretching on and on, forever... and realized that he was the only one who _could_ notice. 

He'd realized it when Wensleydale's birthday failed to roll around, and by then the damage was already being done. Oh, Adam knew important things (I.E. the world and time) were stretching to accommodate him, but if he didn't _want_ things to change, they wouldn't. 

After all, weren't the powers given to him to be used? He could have changed everything if he felt like it, but all he really wanted was a little chunk of the world. 

Tadfield. 

And he never wanted summer to end. 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

Crowley rolled into Tadfield on the wings of an evening storm, as appropriate as that was. Lightening flashed all around his Bentley, lit across the sky howling behind him, filled with crackling electricity. In the prenatural darkness the sleek black car pulled alongside the road, just in front of the Jasmine Cottage, parked itself, and waited in silence for a moment. 

The demon within stared morosely out the tinted windows at the fluttering waves of vine writhing against the side of the cottage, and sighed. 

The angel owed him big time for this one. He would figure out later how many chores, favors and dinners were in order. 

Fat drops of rain began pelting the windows and he popped the door open, locked it with a thought, then progressed to the cabin's porch, which was wet and creaking vocally in the heavy wind. It whistled through dark, oily hair and past long fingers as Crowley reached up to remove his sunglasses, then pocketed them. 

His eyes were slanted and golden. 

The demon raised his hand to knock on the door, and nodded with satisfaction when Anathema called out before he'd made a sound. "Come in!" 

She's still got it, Crowley thought with a small amount of satisfaction, and let himself inside. 

It didn't look at all like what the inside of a proper English cottage should look like, indoors. The entire first room held stacks of books and a few scraps of clothing, coats and umbrellas, a broken vase, cut out magazine articles. Crowley walked past, peering at himself for a moment in the hallway mirror before passing through another low door, nearly bumping his head on the wooden crossbeams. 

The second room held a table, several candles, a map with plenty of criss-crossing loops and lines, as well as three cups of warm tea. There was a wide window, which was trembling under the onslaught of the sudden downpoor, and through it Crowley watched the trees thrash and shake in the wind. "Right on time," Anathema said softly, setting down her cup. "Newt's making dinner. Why don't you sit down?" 

He did so, slipping his black leather coat over one shoulder and slinging it over the back of his chair. Lifting the tea, he took a cautious sip and nodded again, marking up mental points for the young woman. Just how he liked it - no sugar, no milk. Anathema smiled. 

"Thank you for coming," she said very softly. "I was afraid Aziraphale wouldn't be able to convince you. I'm not sure if Newt and I could have done anything on our own." 

Prediction was not an exact art, Crowley remembered as he glanced across the table, scattered with doilies and candlesticks. A person was just as likely to make one choice as another in the long run, and only when the choice was made could a prediction be considered accurate - unless a person had an insane amount of skill. Agnes Nutter had, but fortunately enough, Anathema Device did not. 

Crowley fixed slitted pupils and luminescent eyes on the woman across the table from him. "Explain to me why I'm here?" 

"Pepper is eleven, she's Adam's closest friend. Sam is her little sister, age six. Her mother is going on a buisness trip this week..." 

"Isn't that a change in Tadfield? Do they go on buisness trips every week?" 

"Adam is excited. Pepper likes it when her parents leave for bits at a time, usually I watch them. This time I told him I had a lot of work to do and couldn't, but had a good, nice friend that would come by. He seemed interested." 

"So the trick to not getting your thoughts changed is that you just have to do something he agrees with?" 

"Yes," Anathema nodded, soft curls bouncing. In the candlelight she looked very pretty, though Crowley couldn't quite put his finger on why or how. "He must want Pepper's parents gone for a bit - or maybe he wants it because Pepper does, and she's one of Them. He must want to meet one of my friends, or else I wouldn't be able to remember you were even coming." 

"Them?" 

"That's what they call themselves, the group he's friends with. Adam is their leader... surely you remember. They were all there at the Apocalypse." 

Crowley had a vague memory of dirt-encrusted jeans and rickety bicycles. "Ah," he said, tone noncommittal. "Will Adam remember me?" 

"I think he will when he sees you. I'm not sure what he'll do." 

Okay, that left several options open... one, he could be interested in what Crowley had to say, and would listen. Two? He could always annihilate the demon if he didn't like what his presence... 

Newt came in at that moment, swallowing nervously at the sight of Crowley's eyes, which were glowing a bit in his irritation. The demon nodded a greeting to the skinny man, who pressed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and looked helplessly over at his lover. 

"You cook?" Crowley asked boredly, stabbing at the ice slowly forming in the room. 

"Sometimes," Newt smiled weakly and coughed once. "Anathema tells me whether or not I'll make a good dinner, even before I start." 

Anathema grinned smugly into the palm of her hand. "Just telling you how many antacids to take beforehand... Saves a lot of trouble." 

"She's never off by much," the gangly man looked a bit rueful as he set down a pot and returned again with plates and silverware. Crowley watched him with feigned interest, only looking away when the young man began to sweat. "Tonight is a good night, I hear." 

"Ah," said Crowley, and stabbed at his plate. He was trying very hard not to think of what he would have to do in the morning - it scared the proverbial shit out of him. "That's quite a relief." 

The storm raged on. 

~~~~   
~~~~   



	3. Of chocolate cake (and another storm!)

Title: Keeping it Real (2/?)   
Chapter: Two   
Rating: G   
Couplings: Newt/Anathema at the moment, some Adam/Pepper   
Notes: Sorry this has taken so long! I've been distracted with original work, and I don't feel this chapter is quite up to par. Regardless, I want to finish this, and Stuff starts happening at the end of this chapter. Exciting? Hate it? I'd like to know. This is slow writing for me, and feedback of any sort would be greatly appreciated. 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

Crowley approached the house with Anathema at his side, cool and as composed as possible. Despite her presence and his own immortal aspects, the demon was beginning to get nervous as his eyes trailed over various signs of human youth - a broken tricycle, several doll heads, buckets, tins, coke cans, all sorts of debris littered the front walkway. Stepping over a suspiciously colored stain on the cobblestones, he moved up the creaking front steps, glancing across the Lego-coated front porch as Anathema rang the bell. 

Pepper's mother was a thin, blonde woman with fat lips and smiling eyes, a mole on her left cheek. She opened the door, thin fingers rising in surprise at the sight of Anathema and Crowley, then turned and called into the house. She was wearing a thin blue dress, modestly cut, with a wide-brimmed summer hat the likes of which Crowley hadn't seen since the eighteen hundreds. "Hon! Anathema's here, and she's brought her gentleman friend! Come in, come in, dear, and you as well, Mister....?" 

With a snake-like grin, Crowley turned on the charm faucet as he slid his glasses off his nose, revealing innocent brown-gold human eyes. Anathema stared. "A.J. Crowley - please, call me Anthony." 

"Oh," the woman flushed and beamed at him. "Y-yes. Anathema, dear, you have the nicest friends...John! John, we'll be late! Thank you so much, Mister - Anthony - for coming on such short notice." 

"It's not a problem," Crowley purred, silently assuring the woman that no further fears were necessary. He was...a niiiiice man. "Ma'am." 

"Heather," Heather fluttered, beamed, and called for her husband again. 

It took all of fifteen minutes for Crowley to win them over utterly. Heather and John were a normal couple, their two daughters seemingly normal children - and they adored Crowley to a degree that made Anathema glare at him behind their backs. 

_'What?'_ Crowley mouthed as Heather turned to speak to her husband, winking one bland human eye proudly. _'I'm lovable.'_

Anathema looked ill. 

The truth about humans is that they're drawn to a strong person, regardless of who (or in this case, what) that person happens to be. Crowley exhibited an air of clarity and assurance around him, his physical appearance was suave and thin, dark hair and nice cheekbones, accented by his precious leather jacket and dark, sexy sunglasses. People felt like he was in charge, he was dominant and cool - 

It only made tempting that much easier. 

"This is Pepper," John introduced the oldest daughter, who stared suspiciously up at Crowley through short red hair that parted down the middle. Freckles spattered her nose, and her legs were scarred, criss-crossed with marks of the outdoors and friendly scuffles. "She's eleven, loves playing outside, is allergic to penicillin..." 

Crowley nodded faintly to Pepper, who gave him a look she usually reserved for particularly intrepid insurance salesmen. The demon frowned. 

"....and this is Sam. Sam's six and loves her cat... Marry's a longhair, and sheds some. If you get allergies, there's some Claratin in the medicine cabinet... " Sam looked at Crowley for a long moment, then buried her face in her father's leg. She had painfully long, almost-curly straw blonde hair tied back with pink ribbons. Next to Pepper, Sam seemed like a toy doll. "No, no, behave, Sa_man_thaaaa..." 

Crowley took note of her father's tone of 'unquestionable parental authority' - he was pretty sure someone on his side had thought it up. 

"They're out of summer, but they need to play outside for their exercise. No staying out past seven, bedtime is at nine for Pepper, eight for Sam, only two hours of television at a time. Every morning they need their Flintstones vitamins, and you need to feed the cat, her food is in the pantry, Sam knows where it is. We're... ....and Sam doesn't like peanut butter, Pepper will only eat grape jelly, we've left some in the refrigerator in the game room... ....the laundry room is down the hall past the kitchen, that's where the ... here's my phone number, John's cell, my mother's nursing home, the next door neighbors, Anathema, the Young's - they'll help if you have any questions, they live over a few streets down - EMS, the major hospital in Norton, and -" 

By the time Crowley was settled in (he had forgotten luggage, and 'borrowed' one of the angel's suitcases from London with a disconcerted thought), it was time for the parents to go. Heather didn't want to leave Crowley's dashing company, she talked endlessly as they stood in the doorway until her husband pulled her away towards the car, flashing the demon an apologetic glance. Quick kisses went to the two children, then Anathema shoved off as well, wishing Crowley luck with what could only be an amused smirk perched on her lips. 

The door slammed, and he turned. 

"............so." 

Four wide eyes stared back. 

"What do you two do for fun?" 

~~~~   
~~~~ 

Aziraphale was musing with the talent of an angel that has enjoyed thinking very much for several thousand years. He had a book open across the table, a cup of warm tea pressed between his fingers, and continuously pressed his thin-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose before continuing to peruse the open volumn before him. 

He was reading up on the general consensus of time and space. What he found, not surprisingly, was that every good science fiction author had a different opinion of how it worked. "At least it makes for good reading," the angel sighed, folding Ender's Game closed ("Nothing....") and tossing it onto the couch, where it knocked aside A Wrinkle in Time and bumped A Brief History of Space into the trash bin. 

The angel reached for another tome, absently sipping his drink. 

His research had proved fruitful on a number of different theories, however none of them told him quite what he wanted to hear. Generally, most authors seemed to think that a hole in space or time would either form a black hole, which would devour the planet - or simply destroy reality in one massive explosion. 

Neither of these options were acceptable to Aziraphale. He wasn't sure what to do. 

In response to that depressing information, the angel caught his chin on his fist and frowned. "I wonder how Crowley's getting on in Tadfield..." 

It had been three days, after all. And he had heard nothing. Aziraphale pandered over the phone for a moment, frowning faintly before deciding at last to pick it up and give Crowley a ring at the number Anathema had left with him. 

On the fourth dial, Crowley picked up. 

"Crowley, dear, how _are_ you getting on?" 

Silence. Then, "Angel, I'm going to kill you." 

"Oh. My." 

~~~~ 

The sound of trashy bicycles threading up a dusty lane filled the afternoon air - followed by young, grubby voices and cheerful shouts. "Pepper! Hey, Pep!" 

Pepper was standing on her front porch, hands folded over her chest. Her jeans were tatters of their former selves and a rim of chocolate surrounded her mouth. She waved. 

Brian peered at the lone female member of the Them as their bikes pulled to a stop. He grinned, dirt shivering off as his expression changed. "What took ya so long?" 

"Mum an' dad hired some fellow to watch us," Pepper shook her head. "He's...well..." 

The Them nodded at once in understanding. '_Babysitters - sigh -' _ their glances seemed to say. 

"He wouldn't let you outside?" Wensleydale peered at Pepper over the rim of his glasses, impressed. The Them knew it took quite a bit of work to keep one of their number inside when they would rather be out. 

"I think he's a professional. He's got funny eyes," the redhead shrugged, but the smile on her face didn't shrink. 

"Hey," Adam and Dog gazed suspiciously at the girl, peering at the dark smudges on her chin and lips, "you've been eating cake." 

"Yep," Pepper grinned imperiously, towering above them on the porch. Cake was a major finding to them all. 

Brian was positively awed, eyes as round as saucers. "But...it's only.... ten thirty in the morning! _Nobody_ eats cake at ten-thirty in the morning!" 

"Anthony lets us eat cake whenever we want," the girl shot back haughtily, examining her scummy nails as she spoke. "Even at bedtime! He's great." 

The Them tried to contemplate that idea. Cake at bedtime was like wearing your shoes on your head, or washing your bicycle... It just wasn't done. "At bedtime?" Adam asked, skeptically, "that's..." 

"Late," Wensleydale added, then shifted. He was growing quite hungry, and cast a glance at Brian and Adam, hopefully. "Could we have some cake?" 

Pepper's grin was enough to tell Them she'd been just _waiting_ for them to ask. "Come on in." 

~~~~ 

Adam peered around Pepper's house as they stomped through the foyer, leaving trails of dusty footprints across the hardwood floor - his eyes were wide with surprise. 

The house was...different. There were more candles, for one. The kitchen walls were splattered with a number of expensive looking foods, and there were microwavable hot pocket wrappers scattered across the floor. As they passed the dining room, the boy swore he saw Mary - the cat - hanging from the ceiling in a cage made of silverware, but he might have imagined it. Funny little noises filled the air. The wallpaper danced. 

"Anthony!" 

The babysitter called 'Anthony' was flopped on a couch, heavy black boots propped up on the expensive, polished coffee table. All of Pepper's mother's expensive trinkets and poupouri plates were in a pile of broken glass, lumped together on the floor. He was talking on the phone, ignoring her. 

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanthony!" Pepper hollered, unaffected by the remnants of her nicely manicured parlor. "AAAAAAAAAANTHONY!!!!" 

"No, angel, she's fine - just brought some of her little friends in to play. What do you mean?! I know plenty about childcare! I invented half their toys, after all - no, that's not - no!" 

"AAAAAAAAAAAANTHOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNYYYYYYYYY~!" 

Crowley's glare met the children, eyes yellow and flashing in the dim room. Brian and Wensleydale stared, but Adam merely glowered back, blue eyes narrow and cold - he was not intimidated by some imposing babysitter that didn't know poupouri was forbidden ground. "I'M ON THE BLOODY PHONE, KID! ... no! 'Bloody' is NOT a swear word, you stupid - " 

"I'm not stupid," the redhead looked hurt. More hurt than Adam had ever seen her appear - the Them never displayed a weakness to anyone, because weaknesses could be fairly exploited, however Pepper face at that moment radiated injustice 

"Not you, I'm talking to someone - well, angel, I - " 

Behind the couch, the redhead's eyes went wide, a faint blush trailing across her face. "Angel?" She'd never been called _that_ before. Demon-child, brat, git, idiot, fetus-face, yes, but never _angel._ She smiled at Crowley, adoringly, over the back of the couch. 

"Yeah, yeah, what do you want?" Crowley clapped a hand ineffectually over the receiver's mouth. 

"Cake." 

"More? Can't you make it this time?" 

Brian and Wensleydale peered at Adam, hopefully. The Them had been trusted in a kitchen once and one time only - their experiment, unfortunately, had not turned out quite like they'd planned. There were still lumps of burned flour scattered on top of Brian's cabinets, which the Them had agreed were never to be spoken of again. 

"We don't know how," Pepper peered at the demon, eyes wide and attaining a reasonable semblance of innocence. Crowley muttered darkly, sighed, and gave up. 

"Sorry, Aziraphale, I have to go. No. Yes. Maybe. See you." The demon hung up the phone and stood, black leather folding and creaking as he moved, towering over the children. Adam noticed, with some astonishment, that 'Anthony' had one ear pierced. "Cake, right?" 

Pepper nodded, staring hopefully. 

Crowley paused. Blinked, raised a brow, smiled slyly. Something shoved at Adam's mental consciousness, and then the kid-sitter waved a hand, trying to look nonchalant. "Oh, I forgot - I already had one in the oven. Why don't you check?" 

The kids stared a moment. Finally Brian managed to squeak, "Really?" and the herd tromped into the kitchen, opened the oven door - and yes, indeed, there was a chocolate cake. Fully iced. In a cold oven. 

Crowley smiled like a snake for a long moment, until the mental equivilent of cold water was sloshed across his brain. 

The demon hissed softly at the nearly painful strength assailing his mind. A pair of ageless eyes settled on his face with enough force of will that the demon was half-tempted to shiver - it burned slowly, softly, incredibly hot - 

"Fancy that," said Crowley, shoving the cake into Wensleydale's arms and gesturing towards the living room almost desperately - he needed an excuse to get away from that burning gaze, from power that made it difficult to think. "I must be psychic, to know you'd all want cake." 

_'Adam, huh? The antichrist…' _"Go eat. I have to check on Sam." 

"Can I come with you?" Pepper asked, taking a hesitant step forward. The Them stared - nobody in their right mind would pass up _cake_ to check on a sibling! Adam's stare, if possible, grew more painful. The demon shook his head, nervously. 

"No, no, you…er….have guests," he hissed, sidling out of the room without pausing for breath. Pepper looked after him, a faint frown on her face, before glancing over at the boys, two of which were staring longingly at the chocolate cake. Adam seemed annoyed. 

She paused, then beamed shamelessly at the group. "Did you see his earring?" 

"It was a bloody great earring," Brian nodded, absently tugging on his own earlobe with a free hand. "Sparkly." 

Even Wensleydale seemed impressed. "You'd have to be awfully brave to punch a hole through your ear," said the be-speckled boy, nodding wisely. "I bet he's got real guts." 

"Course he does," Pepper preened, proud to have such an interesting specimen under her roof. Anthony was almost as neat as Anathema, who Adam had first met. She wondered what the dark-haired man knew about witches . "And he's got a great jacket." 

"Leather." 

"Black!" 

"Think he's got a motorcycle?" 

"Bet he has lots of lady-friends." 

Dog found a chunk of cake that Brian's fingers had knocked to the ground, licking it up cheerfully - Adam didn't see why dog's shouldn't enjoy chocolate too, and therefore in Tadfield they often did. The boy eyed his pet disdainfully. 

"Bet he gets sick of buying chocolate for them!" Wensleydale shook his head, looking very impressed. "You always have to buy chocolate for them, yanno." 

Pepper said nothing, but looked with sudden interest at the cake Brian was embedding his fingers in, licking the icing away. Her expression read, very obviously, '….chocolate?' 

The Them closed in, save one. 

Adam slammed the door back behind him, stalking out into the garden with his hands clenched at his sides. He did not expect to be followed - his subconscious tended to enforce his expectations on other people, and this was one of those occasions. As much as he hated using the 'magic' against his friends, he needed to work something out with just himself for company. 

That Anthony fellow was utterly familiar: Adam had seen him before, and what he suspected about him made the young boy _angry_. 

The Antichrist let his senses fan out, reaching about for a grip on the 'babysitter's' mind. He felt Crowley out, he was upstairs in Sam's room, watching the young girl build a tower with blocks - and suppressing a very un-adult-like urge to knock the entire thing to the ground. 

Yes, he had seen Anthony before. Perhaps…. Perhaps… 

Yes, there. It clicked. 

_He was there when I changed things,'_ Adam realized, eyes narrowing to thin slits in his tanned face, still round with baby-fat and soft, despite the freckles. '_He was with that angel, and Anathema knew them.'_

Anger, white-hot and stronger than most people could contain burbled through the boy's consciousness. Here he had been happy, had worked everything out to suit his tastes, had made Tadfield extra perfect…and what had to happen? A stupid _demon_ waltzed in, baked a few cakes, and suddenly Pepper seemed to think he was the greatest thing in the world. 

Adam was not sure why the thought of the scrawny red-head hero-worshipping someone (other than himself, which honestly, she did not do and never had) stung his pride quite as sharply as it did. Antichrist or not, pre-puberty females were quite alien. 

_'Why is he HERE? I told them I was through with that! I don't want anything to do with them...!'_

But Anthony _was_ there, and he was changing things in his own sort of way. The Them generally agreed on everything, and most of the time 'everything' was what Adam proposed - when he didn't want something, they sensed it, and it was avoided. However, they did it of their own accordance, and Adam felt that naturally, their opinions should be considered in his plans. They were his best friends, his council, advisors and playmates in a twisted sort of filter for Adam's worst plans and hair-brained schemes... they were everything. 

And 'Anthony' - whoever he was - was taking them away. 

Adam frowned, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. It was not just another midsummer storm.   
  



End file.
